


Building a Ruin

by Brain Picker (bookscorpion)



Series: Where Must We Go [2]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Shadowrun: Hong Kong
Genre: Action, Complete, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Fandom Blind Friendly, Fury Road happens sometime in the middle of the fic, M/M, Magic, On the Run, Shadowrun characters in the Wasteland, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Wastelaaaand, a little bit of a sickfic, but my guys try, off screen though, orks in the Wasteland, the Wasteland is not a place for balanced and healthy relationships, the dog will be fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion/pseuds/Brain%20Picker
Summary: 'You know that rumour that your tattoos tell the future? It put you on some kind of wanted list. I've had two offers to buy you already. Gas Town isn't safe, no idea about other places.Hunted and on the run, Duncan's and Rhys' life crumbles to dust in their hands. Can they find a place to rebuild?Content notes for each chapter in the end notes.Sequel toThis Crooked Path- you can read both stories on their own though and in whatever sequence you like. Right now, This Crooked Path is an ongoing multi-chapter fic.





	1. The Cradle Will Fall

  


'I'll give you two barrels of guzzoline and', the mechanic hesitated, '300 days of blackthumb services for free!'

Duncan glared at him, dropping the crate of spare parts on the table harder than necessary. 'I already told you, Rhys is not for sale. Now, do you want these or not?' They bickered over the price until Duncan walked away with a grab bag of different spare parts they needed and a canister of guzzoline. 

He hesitated and then silently apologised to the caged tiny brown puppy they had come to get. Last time they had been in Gas Town, he had made friends with it and Rhys had encouraged him to get it, but they had needed to hunt and barter supplies to get everything the seller asked for it. It stood up on its hind legs, paws pressed against the mesh of its cage, ears perked up and fluffy tail wagging furiously at Duncan but he didn't stop. He needed to get Rhys.

Duncan found him going through the salvage at another scavenger's booth, random remains of humanity spread out on a rickety table. Sleeves rolled up and hood down, Rhys displayed his tattoos. They served to keep most people at a distance in a mixture of respect and fear. Few wanted to mess with a History Man, not even or especially not such a strange one, pictures and not words all over his skin. Who knew what he could do with a well-placed curse even if he looked soft and harmless otherwise.

At least, that had been how it used to work and Duncan had the feeling it had changed. The promise of riches and influence made Rhys a target. A quick glance at the crowd showed him that a handful of people were watching Rhys thoughtfully. He stood out, a head taller than most, long hair in a braid curling over his shoulder. And Duncan himself was no less conspicuous, even taller and much bulkier than Rhys, clearly a warrior. Maybe Rhys' owner, maybe his partner, but definitely Rhys' first line of defense. Tusks, pointed ears and size marked them both as something different at first glance, a curiosity to gawk at, but not too openly. 

'We're leaving. Now.' Duncan dropped his voice so low that only Rhys heard him. Rhys turned to Duncan, confused at being given an order, but put back the jar he had been holding and followed him.

A quick touch to Duncan's wrist and he had Rhys' voice in his mind. 'What's wrong?'

'You know that rumour that your tattoos tell the future? It put you on some kind of wanted list. I've had two offers to buy you already. Gas Town isn't safe, no idea about other places.' Duncan scanned the crowd but so far no one made a move to stop them. He thought that if there would be an ambush it would be either on the way to the bikes once they were out in the open or right after leaving Gas Town. 

Unless the People Eater wanted them, then they were straight up fucked. But if that were the case he doubted they would have been allowed to even leave the bridge over the oil moat, let alone enter the market. Bounty hunters would be their problem, not the Gas Town folks themselves. For now.

The safest thing would probably have been to let Rhys make his way to the bikes alone, but Duncan couldn't stand the thought of abandoning him. Rhys needed him as defence. If Rhys was forced to use _magic_ to defend himself, they would never be able to come near any of the settlements again. Where ever it came from, at times Duncan wished Rhys didn't have it. It was a miracle they had been able to keep it a secret all this time, playing rumours off as superstition. The fact that the _one_ totally unfounded rumour about Rhys' abilities was the one to get them into trouble was a bad joke.

Duncan didn't break the market truce by pulling a weapon but he made sure he could reach his gun and knife easily, not have it snag on clothes. Rhys put his hood up, pulled his sleeves down and became just another figure in the crowd. There was a short shimmer of magic around him. Duncan had to concentrate on keeping Rhys in sight, his gaze wanted to just slide off of him as the spell took effect.

He kept a step behind Rhys so he was able to keep an eye on him and the crowd at the same time. People gave him a wide berth and didn't pay attention to Rhys who weaved his way between them instead of just bulldozing ahead like Duncan did. It worked well for them, drawing attention to Duncan and away from Rhys. But it wasn't much of a secret that he and Rhys were usually not far from each other.

He breathed only a little easier once they were out of the market and under open sky, polluted and choked by fumes as it was. A storm would be coming later, he could already taste it on the air and hear it in the silence under the clamour of Gas Town's machinery. They could use it to lose anyone following them although Duncan didn't relish the thought of being out in the storm. At the very least, it would cover their tracks.

There were people hanging around near their bikes. A couple of war boys, guarding their war rig, loud and drunk on the glory of their successful run to Gas Town. Probably not a problem. Except for the old one. No one got this old in the Wasteland without a good instinct for opportunity and right now, Rhys was a very good opportunity indeed to get in the favour of powerful people. Duncan didn't like how intently the man watched them.

He liked the three men casually leaning against an armoured car even less. Scavenged armour, shaved heads, carrying what he thought to be spear guns slung across their backs. They stared openly. He stared back, letting them know they had been seen. His gaze flickered to the old war boy when he saw movement, just in time to catch the _Behind you_ gesture. 

He whipped round, blocked the tire iron aimed for his head with his arm. Pulled the man wielding it close, right into a punch with the fuel canister. 

The man went down. Duncan had just time enough to stomp on his throat before the other two were on him.

The war boys hollered their approval of this improvised Thunderdome from atop their war rig. Other spectators clambered up on their parked vehicles to watch. Only a question of time until this attracted official Gas Town attention. 

The screaming behind him told him that Rhys had firebombed someone. Men with their face on fire all screamed the same. Had Rhys remembered to use one of their decoy oil bombs to mask the spell? 

Duncan had more pressing issues. Like the kick to the back of the knee that made his leg buckle. Rolling away, he desperately hoped he was fast enough to get up again. A glancing blow with another tire iron tore open his scalp but didn't keep him down.

Duncan threw a handful of sand at the smaller of his attackers and himself at the other. He regretted it the second a knife pierced his armour and he impaled himself on it by his own momentum and force, driving it deep into his side. But it also meant the knife was out of the hands of his opponent who wasn't fast enough to pull it out before Duncan twisted away.

A knee to the stomach made the man double up. It gave Duncan the chance to smash his knee into the man's face and plunge his own knife into his neck. No time to retrieve it, a sudden weight on his back.

Rhys cried out and fear wrenched Duncan's gut, but he had his hands full keeping fingers away from his eyes and throat. Grabbing hold of an arm, he threw his attacker forward. Pulled her into a bear hug, her back to him, grabbing for her wrists. She raked her fingers across his arms. Razors sewn into her gloves cut clothes, skin and flesh into ribbons.

With a scream of rage and pain, Duncan slammed her into a car, put his weight behind it, lost his footing. The woman lost her breath, went limp for a second, falling on top of him. Time enough to slam her head against the wheel well. Once, twice, three times. Until he heard a crack and she stopped struggling. When he got up, her razors buried in his arm took a last chunk of flesh.

He stumbled, pushing away the searing pain and the darkness that tunnelled his vision. Rhys was in trouble, on his knees with a small harpoon right through his shoulder. He had the chain attached to the harpoon wrapped around his arm, fought the man pulling on the other end.

Duncan took five running steps and a jump to tackle the second bounty hunter who was about to shoot another harpoon into Rhys from behind. They both landed hard, rolled, clawing at each other. With every roll, the knife in his side dug deeper into Duncan. Only his left arm was still in the fight, the other made useless by the razors. 

Another scream and he couldn't tell if it was Rhys. Nothing he could do if it was. He came out on top of the tumble. His one good hand was wrapped around his opponent's throat, squeezing as hard as he could. The man was writhing under him, trying to pull a weapon, forcing Duncan's head back with a hand under his chin. Duncan's fingers slipped, blood from his cuts running between them.

The bounty hunter had found his gun and brought it up. Knowing he was going to die, Duncan let go, tore the knife out of himself and thrust it into the man's throat, leaned on it until it ground into bone. He didn't bother to watch the man jitter himself to death, choking on blood, just grabbed the pistol and ran towards Rhys. 

The last bounty hunter was wreathed in flames, staggering in a circle, tearing at his clothes. He had dropped his spear gun and Rhys had picked it up, gathered the chain dangling from the harpoon. No time to figure out how to get the chain off. Duncan pulled Rhys with him towards the bikes. Blood was running down his side, his leg, his neck, dripping from both his arms. Rhys looked better, they had been more careful with him. Not wanting to damage the goods. 

No-one tried to stop them. The war boys were too busy screaming their Witness! at the dead and dying. Everyone else took one look at the bodies and Duncan's face and got out of their way. They might make it out of Gas Town yet. 

Duncan greyed out for a second when he swung his leg over his bike. He shook himself and had to use his left arm to bring his right into position, just enough strength and control left in his fingers to hold on. Operating the brake might be a problem but right now he didn't worry about it. Going slow was the last thing on his mind. He just gunned the engine and followed Rhys' bike, expecting to get shot in the back any second or find the gate closed. 

They were allowed to leave. Duncan allowed himself to relax the tiniest bit once they had crossed the oil bog and were on the open road. With the smoke and noise of Gas Town falling away behind them and the storm building up in front of them, they went off road, heading for a hideout. No sense in racing the storm. Even less sense in leading anyone who might be following them to their place. Better to wait out the storm in the hideout, wait for it to cover their tracks and go on once it was over. He just took the time to stop for a minute to stuff some rags under his armour in the hope it would stanch the bleeding.

The hideout was a mostly buried train, hidden away from view by a rise. They kept it accessible but hidden and so far, it had served them well. It was stocked with emergency supplies and they could hide out here while the storm passed. As far as Duncan knew, only a handful of people were aware of it. Everyone was careful to keep it as much of a secret as possible and to not exhaust the supplies. It was worth more as neutral ground than fighting over it. 

Even without the storm, Duncan was immensely relieved to arrive there. He was barely holding on, had threatened to simply black out more than once. Most of the way had passed in a haze, he had been finding his way completely on autopilot. Everything hurt and he was so exhausted he wanted to simply lie down and sleep. But first he'd need to help Rhys to hide the bikes and get the harpoon out. Then patch himself up. And then sleep. No, get a drink of water and then sleep, he was parched. He stood to get off the bike and everything went black.  
  


~~~~~~~~~

  
  
Duncan keeled over, his bike falling on top of him, and he didn't move once he was down. 

'Fuck!' Rhys pulled the bike off of him and knelt down, looking at Duncan's aura to see what exactly was wrong. And there was so much wrong. Too much for him to fix. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the spell, made it as powerful as he dared, channeled it into the stab wound. That one was the worst. It would kill Duncan soon.

Magic knit the flesh together again, stopped the bleeding. The dark, oily spots on Duncan's aura grew smaller as the wound healed. But they didn't disappear. The other injuries, the blood loss and the exhaustion were too bad for this. At least now he had time to get Duncan inside. 

After finally cutting the chain off of the harpoon stuck in his shoulder and dragging Duncan down into the train car, Rhys returned above ground to at least tie a tarp over the bikes to hide them. He didn't want any surprise visitors. His shoulder was screaming with pain at every movement and he'd need to take care of it now or he'd be useless. With Duncan still passed out, that would be fun. 

For a second, he thought about conjuring up a spirit to help, but he needed all his strength for more healing spells. So he put pressure on it, kept pushing until it was almost completely in his shoulder and then scrabbled for purchase where it stuck out on the back. The sharp tip cut into his fingers and he had to pull downwards, couldn't pull it out straight. His fingers kept slipping and he was sobbing with pain and frustration, but finally it clattered to the ground. 

Instead of just falling forward and passing out like he would have wanted and like his body was asking him to do, he cast another spell. The bleeding from the wound stopped and after a few seconds, it closed. He had a nosebleed and a raging headache, both signs that he should stop. But he couldn't. He would risk treating Duncan's head wound without magic, it was shallow, just a cut. But his arms were another matter. Rhys could see bone shimmering through the blood and sliced tissue when he took off the improvised bandages, already soaked through. Duncan was pale, his skin cold and Rhys liked nothing about that. A least he was breathing regularly.

Another deep breath and another spell. More blood gushed from Rhys' nose and his vision started to tunnel, but he held on with grim concentration. Duncan's bleeding stopped. His flesh, muscles and sinews started to regrow, moving under Rhys' hands. Unconsciousness swept over Rhys like a freezing wave and he went under.

It was pitch dark when he woke up and stiflingly hot. The smell of decaying blood made him retch. The storm must have blown itself out while he was unconscious, he couldn't hear anything outside.

He had collapsed on top of Duncan and lingered for a second longer with Duncan's strong heartbeat in his ears. Then he got up and felt around for a lantern. In its flickering light, he got to work cleaning up, sacrificing as much water as he dared for it. The cuts on Duncan's arms were only partially healed. At least they no longer went right to the bone. Everything else had to heal on its own, the wound wouldn't accept more magic.

Duncan woke up in the middle of Rhys patching him up, sat bolt upright. He looked around wildly, went for his gun, before he recognised Rhys.

'We're safe. We made it to the train.' Rhys gently pushed him back down. 

'That was too fucking close. Gas Town is out, will be for a while.' Even in his state, Duncan was already planning, thinking ahead. He groaned with pain when Rhys lifted his arm to bandage it. 'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine. You, on the other hand, need to rest. You lost a lot of blood and you have some nasty cuts. I'm sorry, I couldn't heal it all.' Rhys handed him a canteen with water. It was a measure of how exhausted Duncan was that he took it, drank the water in one go and then lay down again without any protests. He had fallen asleep again before Rhys was finished with the bandages. 

After eating and drinking a bit himself, Rhys climbed to the surface, dug out the train's ventilation and checked for traces of people around. Not finding any, he returned underground and curled up next to Duncan.  
  


~~~~~~~~~

  
  
Despite Duncan's wounds, they had decided to leave the train and go, they both wanted to be back at their Green Place. 

It was good to be home. 

It wasn't much. A small cave hidden in a narrow canyon, big enough to give them shelter. And at the back of the cave, there was water. Enough for them and enough to grow some plants - saltbush, sweet potato, bush tomato. There even was some acacia scrub, roots reaching the groundwater. It was not enough to sustain them, but still - it was an incredibly precious thing to have in the Wasteland and they both knew it. Neither of them liked being away for long.

Duncan had refused any painkillers from their tiny supply although he accepted all the food and water Rhys gave him. He was still a bit wobbly on his feet from the blood loss, but insisted on being up and about as much as possible. Rhys suspected he was feeling worse than he let on but Duncan didn't admit it.

Until he woke up with a fever, too weak to walk more than a few steps. Rhys didn't even have to convince him to stay in bed and that was a bad sign in itself. When Rhys checked the wounds, he saw what he had immediately feared: the skin between them red and even hotter under Rhys' fingers than the rest of Duncan's body. Just a gentle touch made Duncan hiss in pain.

Rhys didn't have to wait for the wounds to start smelling to know what was happening. He dug through their supplies, hoping against hope that he had more antibiotics than he thought, but he didn't. It had been a stroke of luck to get even a small amount, following vague hints and using outrageous amounts of time and guzzoline to find what had been a cattle station. Even more time and digging to find what little was left of the medical supplies. He had used everything sparingly, but it had been years since they found it.

What was left was enough to get Duncan over two days or so, not more. Not even remotely enough to treat a sepsis if it should turn into one. Rhys thought it might. And his healing magic would be useless if it did. For a minute, he knelt in front of their supply crate, the antibiotics clutched in his hands and wished very hard for this to go away. Panic choked him and he fought to breathe normally. 

'I have to leave. Go to Gas Town.' Rhys sat next to Duncan, had just given him the first antibiotics. 'We don't have enough drugs to treat this.'

'You will fucking not go to Gas Town, are you out of your mind? Give me what you have here, it'll be fine.' Duncan struggled to sit up, but Rhys' hand on his chest held him down.

Rhys just looked at him. Duncan knew as well as he did how serious this was and Rhys didn't have the strength to argue with him. 

Neither did Duncan. 'Fuck. Oh fuck me, this is bad. Are you really sure, can't you go somewhere else?'

'No. You don't have that much time.' Rhys caressed Duncan's face, fingertips tracing the line of his jaw. 'I promise I will come back to you. I'm going to leave Artrí with you, to keep an eye on you and protect you, but if I have to, I'll call him. He'll get me out. But we _need_ more drugs or you will die.' He had conjured up the spirit bear already but let it stayed immaterial for now - the cave was cramped enough even without Artrí in it.

Duncan took Rhys hand, kissed his palm. He didn't waste their time arguing. 'Be careful.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duncan is a character from Shadowrun Hong Kong, Rhys is my OC. Writing them in the Wasteland is super fun because of the magic problem and because of how the Wasteland shapes their personality and their relationship. Their Shadowrun stories are collected in [Changing of the Light](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1266935)
> 
> This will update every two weeks on Thursdays.
> 
> Beta read by [Tyellas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas) \- thank you! [Bethagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethagain) read the first two chapters to ensure at least a bit of medical accuracy - thank you so much! Any errors are mine alone.
> 
> Title is from Skyclad's [The Cradle Will Fall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KRFo0ElY0Y&spfreload=5)
> 
> Photo for the cover by [Fré Sonneveld on Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/photos/G74n9VZ5ves)
> 
> CONTENT NOTES: a bit of gore, lots of violence


	2. Broken Promised Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rhys slipped away from the crowd, down a cramped corridor, a shaky set of stairs threatening to detach from the wall under his weight and another walkway between pipes. The clanging of machinery was his companion, deafening him, and the stench of crude oil plugged his nose. _  
Rhys goes to Gas Town to get help for Duncan and has to pay a high price.

Gas Town crouched before Rhys like a gigantic beast in its lair, maw wide open. Its roar hurt his ears and its stink bit his eyes and nose.

He took a last drink of water before pulling up his shawl again, hiding behind it and under a hood. Using bits of scrap and gear, he had tried to change both his appearance and the bike's as much as possible. Together with a spell it should be enough to get him into Gas Town unnoticed. Getting out was another problem. He needed the flesh mechanic to come with him.

Duncan was deteriorating fast. Through his spirit's eyes, Rhys had watched the infection develop over the day and a half it had taken him to reach Gas Town. Black tendrils had taken root in Duncan's aura, spreading like ink on wet paper. The spirit bear's sense of smell had told him the rest. This was not going to be solved with antibiotics alone, even if he could get any. Rhys thought that Duncan might lose the arm. He couldn't do that by himself, even if the flesh mechanic would be willing to let him have all the supplies he needed.

Crossing the black void of the oil moat, there seemed to be too many eyes watching him - the guards, other scavengers coming to sell their finds. Every passing glance made Rhys' heart skip a beat. The spell he had cloaked himself with to ward off casual interest was on the verge of failing the whole time.

But no-one stopped him or followed him as he left his bike, took all the supplies he had brought for bartering and headed for the market and the entrance to the bowels of Gas Town he knew to find there. He had had dealings with Abdominous before. If he had needed just the drugs, he would have been confident that the water he could offer would have been enough. As things were, he hoped that Abdominous was either occupied or drugged out of his mind. He wanted to talk to Dead End, Abdominous' assistant. Dead End was a butcher at best, but he was also _hungry_ for influence and might be convinced by the desperate offer Rhys was going to make,

Rhys slipped away from the crowd, down a cramped corridor, a shaky set of stairs threatening to detach from the wall under his weight and another walkway between pipes. The clanging of machinery was his companion, deafening him, and the stench of crude oil plugged his nose. The spirit he had conjured kept him invisible company and watched his back, but it, too, was unhappy to be in this place.

It was a relief to finally arrive at Abdominous' door. Whatever happened now, at least the waiting was over. He knocked.

Dead End's face wasn't usually one people were happy to see. It wasn't that he was ugly, in fact he was downright boring in a place where exciting scars and tumours were the norm. But he looked at everyone calculating how much use they could be to him and it showed. Right now, Rhys appreciated being looked at like this.

'What do you want?' Dead End frowned at him. He had to take a step back to he didn't have to look up at Rhys.

'To talk to you.' Rhys put a stress on the _you_. It was enough to get him through the door and into what functioned as Dead End's part of the room. It was a cramped space, parted from the main room by several steel filing cabinets and a tattered curtain. There was a rickety chair, a table piled high with surgical instruments in various stages of cleanliness, some blankets in a corner and a stool with wheels. Dead End kicked the stool over to Rhys and sat down in the chair.

Abdominous wasn't in sight, probably enjoying a high somewhere. It served Rhys just fine. He pushed back his hood. 'I need your help.'

'You're _him_! The Illustrated Man!' Dead End's eyes went wide and he jumped up from the chair he had just sat on, visibly looking for a better weapon than a rusty scalpel.

Rhys didn't move. 'Yes. But before you do anything hasty, think about this: if you sell me out right now, would you get the reward for it? Or would it go to someone else along the way. A Polecat. Abdominous. Or maybe you do get me to the People Eater and he decides it's cheaper for him to just have you killed and take me for himself.' He let that sink in and watched the doubt grow in Dead End. 'Or you listen to the offer I have for you.'

Dead End sunk down on his chair again and waved for Rhys to continue, watching him with naked distrust.

'I need for you to come with me and treat someone with a bad infection. I think he may need to have an arm amputated. In return, you will know where there's water to be found. Clean water, a constant supply. And some ground that's not sour. Help me and you get to keep it.' Rhys pushed a canister of water across the ground with his foot so Dead End could reach it. 'Water like this. Good as aqua cola. Taste it.'

'And how do I know you're not going to just kill me afterwards?' Dead End grabbed the canister and shoved it behind himself.

Rhys wished he had a good answer to this. 'You don't, actually. But you know I'm desperate or else I wouldn't be here, trying to pull this off.' He pulled out another container and slid it over the floor. 'Take a look. You know this doesn't come from the Citadel.'

It was bush tomatoes and a sweet potato, dirt still clinging to it. The Citadel didn't grow either of that or if they did, they did not trade. Rhys watched Dead End smell it, finally taste the water, stare at the sweet potato like it held the answer to all questions. And he saw the greed slowly starting to overpower the doubt. It all played out in his aura, shivering violet worry pulling back into the depth to be replaced by spreading fiery blooms of orange greed. Rhys was used to people underestimating him and he guessed that Dead End thought that he could deal with Rhys. Maybe have both the green place _and_ Rhys, when the time came.

Dead End snapped the container shut, making Rhys jump. 'Fine. I'll go with you. But we'll take my ride and you hand me all your weapons.' He stared at Rhys, ready to argue.

'Once we're away from Gas Town, you can have my weapons. Not here.' Rhys said this because he thought that was the reaction Dead End expected and he wasn't planning to stick to it. But he didn't want to make him suspicious by giving in too easily.

To his surprise, Dead End nodded. 'Deal. We shouldn't leave together anyway, People would get curious and I have no use for that. Wait for me on the road.'

Rhys didn't like letting Dead End out of his sight, but he was telling the truth. And at this point, he didn't have a choice. 'We'll meet twenty klicks along the road. That's where we go off road anyway.'

Dead End grunted in agreement and started throwing supplies into a bag: scalpels, bandages, an enormous knife, all the antibiotics Rhys' water could buy.' 'I can't bring anything for the pain. Unless you want to wait for Abdominous to get back.'

'No. We'll deal with that somehow.' Rhys slipped out of the door and found his own way to the surface again. He checked on Duncan on the way and saw him writhing in a fever dream through Artrí's eyes. The black fungus of the infection had spread further, creeping deep into his aura. He was dying.

As soon as he left the tunnels, Rhys felt exposed. He wrapped himself in his spell like a cloak and grimaced as Gas Town's aura seeped into his. There was so much death and brutality here, it was imprinted into every building, every inch of ground, even into the air. Together with the pollution, it made Gas Town into a place where magic was painful.

The spell and the rest of his camouflage worked well enough that he made it to his bike without attracting too much attention. He saw Dead End getting cornered by some Gas Town war boys. They just wanted a bit of fun, it seemed, shoving him around. Normally, it was a bad idea to upset a flesh mechanic but if your only option was Dead End, you were fucked anyway. Even Abdominous only tolerated him because it gave him more free time to keep Dead End around and it made him look better in comparison.

Rhys kicked the bike into gear and left Dead End to suffer through the rough jokes alone.

He had to wait a good time for Dead End to catch up to him. Normally, Rhys was patient but now every second seemed to stretch like pitch. When he heard a truck approaching, its engine wheezing and spluttering, he carefully climbed to the top of the boulders he was hiding behind, a little way off road.

The truck was held together by rust and hope and Rhys had serious doubts whether it would get them all the way to the green place. At least he didn't see anyone following. Dead End went off road, the truck almost stalling, and stopped, kept the engine running. He got out of the truck and waited for Rhys to climb down to him. 'Give me your weapons. And load up the bike, we're taking the truck.'

Rhys let himself get patted down after he had handed over his shotgun and a knife. Then he lifted the bike on the truck bed, making the truck creak and sag on its suspension. Dead End stood clutching Rhys' shotgun and waited for Rhys to get in, threw him a pair of handcuffs. 'Put them on. Chain yourself to the door handle.'

Not part of the deal, but Rhys didn't argue. He needed Dead End too much. And it wasn't like he couldn't just rip off the door handle if he had to. In fact, he probably would have to take care not to put too much weight on it.

'I won't try to hurt you. You're much more valuable to me alive and doing this willingly.' Rhys tried for a soothing tone, but it only made Dead End more suspicious.

'Tell me where to go. Other than that, shut up.' Dead End fought the transmission and finally won, getting the truck to move in the direction Rhys pointed to.

They rode in silence for hours, Rhys' every attempt at asking even innocent questions or making small talk to break the silence were shut down by Dead End. Instead, Rhys watched Duncan and willed the truck to go faster. Duncan's life was draining away, his aura growing darker and darker. It tore Rhys apart, seeing him like this, helpless to do anything about it. But he couldn't bear to stop watching, to abandon Duncan.

Dead End's voice tore him out of his concentration. 'What's that guy to you that you're willing to give away a green place for him?'

Rhys stared at him, at a loss how to explain. 'He's- I love him.'

'You _what_?' Dead End gave a disbelieving laugh. 'You do know you can find someone to take care of you again? You can _choose_, with what you're worth. One of them must be someone you can love? But a green place? Good luck. I mean, I'm not complaining. It works out for me. But- yeah, okay. You love him.' He shook his head and snorted.

'I can't help it. He's worth more to me than anything.' Rhys shrugged and didn't try to explain any further. He caught Dead End watching him thoughtfully a couple of times during the rest of the drive but couldn't tell why and didn't care.

They arrived a bit after daybreak. Rhys had fallen asleep, exhausted from his ride to Gas Town and from worry. He started awake when Dead End nudged him.

'Where do we go from here?' Dead End waved at the jumble of sandstone and granite outcrops and hills rising out of the plain before them, painted in glowing orange and yellow fire by the sunrise.

Rhys took a moment to answer while he checked on Duncan. Still alive. He breathed a sigh of relief and pointed. 'Go there, towards that rock that looks like a mushroom.' He caught Dead End's look of confusion and pulled up his sleeve, pointing to a tattoo. 'Like this.'

'The atomic cloud one? Could have just said.' Dead End stared at the tattoos a little longer than necessary, clearly fascinated by the strange animals and plants now lost to the world.

They navigated the labyrinth of narrow passages, cliffs and overhangs as best as they could in the truck until it was clear they could go no further. Dead End wasn't happy to abandon his car, but eventually he freed Rhys of the handcuffs, grabbed his stuff and they continued on the bike.

The green place greeted them with the welcome sight of leaves and small flowers, with cool air and the smell of water. Rhys heard Dead End gasp behind him but he didn't care. He almost ran to check on Duncan, found him burning up with fever. With a thought, he asked Artrí to hide and tried to get Duncan to drink something. The smell from the wounds was bad enough to make him retch. Duncan was out of it from the fever, barely recognised Rhys and didn't reply to any of Rhys' questions. But he did manage to drink some of the water Rhys offered. Rhys tried to tell him what was going on. It was clear Duncan couldn't process any of it. He had finally understood that Rhys was back and clutched his hand tightly, but that was the only reaction Rhys got.

Eventually, Rhys noticed that Dead End wasn't there and for a second he was afraid the flesh mechanic had abandoned him, taking the bike and the location of the green place with him. But when he came out of the cave to check, Dead End was still standing there, staring at the acacias and the flowering sweet potatoes.

'Come help me. You'll have all the time in the world to look at it later.' Rhys tried very hard not to yell at him.

Dead End started and turned. 'Okay, yeah, sure.' He followed Rhys and knelt next to Duncan, unwrapping the bandages. His mumbled _shit_ was all the diagnosis Rhys needed. The whole arm was so badly swollen and inflamed that it was almost impossible to tell where the infection ended. 

'Can you do something?' Rhys softly petted Duncan to comfort him. He mostly comforted himself.

'Fuck if I know. We can try to cut away everything that's gone bad. Might work. Or we cut off the whole arm. That will stop the infection for sure, but he might also just die while we do it. I haven't tried doing that, only seen Abdominous do it.' Dead End stared down on Duncan, probing the wounds with his fingers. 'And whatever we do, we do it without anything for the pain. You need to hold him down so I can work. Think you can do that?'

Rhys nodded. 'I have something for that. Cut the infected flesh out. I'll risk it.' He could heal those new wounds. He couldn't make a limb regrow. 

While Dead End prepared, Rhys dug in their supplies for a syringe. What he injected Duncan with was water, but Dead End didn't need to know that. Enough that he saw Rhys doing _something_ while Rhys used his magic. It wouldn't help with the pain at all but it would keep Duncan still.

Duncan gasped when the magic flowed into him, but he managed only a weak spasm. His breathing sped up and he whimpered, eyes wide with fear. Rhys tried to calm him down, talked softly to him in a low voice. He explained what they were going to go, assured Duncan that everything would be okay. He cast the spell that would allow him to speak to Duncan in his mind, but Duncan blocked him, too panicked to recognise what Rhys was doing.

'What did you give him?' Dead End was fascinated by the paralysis and watched Duncan closely.

'I found that stuff years ago, I don't know what it's called. It's gone now anyway. Just get it over with.' Rhys knelt on Duncan's other side, hands on his chest and wrist just in case Duncan managed to throw off the spell. He didn't avert his eyes when Dead End started cutting, too afraid the man would make a mistake, by chance or deliberate. 

Duncan first screamed, then whimpered in pain when he had exhausted what little strength he had. Rhys kept hoping that he would pass out but he didn't. He begged Rhys to make it stop in a hoarse whisper, over and over again. In his mind, Rhys fought to keep his hold on the spell, Duncan scratching and clawing at him with his thoughts, desperate to free himself. 

Dead End stopped, the open wound covering already much of the arm. 'If I cut more, we could have just taken the arm off right away. He either makes it now or he doesn't.' He put down the scalpel. All three of them were covered in sweat and blood. Rhys was tired to the bone and just wanted Dead End gone but that wasn't going to happen.

He kept the spell active until they were done bandaging the wound, then he let go with a sigh, took his hands away. Duncan stayed flat on his back, breathing fast and shallow, didn't move. Rhys touched his face, wiping away the sweat, and Duncan didn't even have the strength to flinch, but he keened softly.

'I'm sorry-' Rhys pulled away his hand and started to gather up bandages, throwing them in the bucket Dead End had used for the removed tissue. Casting the healing spell would have to wait.

He turned to Dead End who had watched the little moment like a hawk. 'There's water in those drums outside, you can wash yourself. We can talk about the rest there, give me a bit.' 

Before Dead End walked out of the cave, he gave Duncan a last glance and shook his head. 'I don't get what's so special about him.' He didn't wait for an answer and Rhys wouldn't have known how to explain anyway.

When he was done cleaning up, Rhys whispered another apology to Duncan and pulled a blanket over him. Duncan was shivering convulsively from the fever but at least some of the tension had left him. His aura was still dark, black threads everywhere, curled tightly around his limbs. The purple fear that had flooded it was starting to fade, all other colours muted by exhaustion.

Rhys spent a minute kneeling next to him, delaying what he had to do now. Exhaustion and heartache weighed him down, his limbs too heavy to move. With a shaky breath, he pushed himself up and walked outside to give away the life they had built here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [A Broken Promised Land](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XXZWzigajI) by Skyclad
> 
> Beta read by [Tyellas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas) \- thank you!
> 
> CONTENT NOTES: gore, Duncan gets basically operated on without anesthesia


	3. The Suffering Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'What happened? Why are we here?' Duncan looked around in confusion in the half-darkness of the underground train car._  
Duncan and Rhys have to get used to life without their Green Place again. They have each other but will it be enough?

'What happened? Why are we here?' Duncan looked around in confusion in the half-darkness of the underground train car. He was pale and had lost a lot of weight, he could only sit up with Rhys' help.

Duncan's fever had lasted longer than Rhys would have liked even with the antibiotics from Dead End, but eventually the black growth of the infection started to disappear from his aura. Rhys had cast a healing spell on the wound, regrowing flesh and skin, leaving no trace of what had happened on Duncan. Not on his body.

Even with the fever gone, Duncan had slept most of the time, too exhausted to really notice his surroundings. Rhys wasn't exactly unhappy about this, he dreaded that conversation and didn't want to have it with Duncan still feverish and half-delirious. But now, Duncan was awake and very much aware of where he was.

Rhys lowered himself to the floor next to Duncan's nest of blankets. He fidgeted with the canteen Duncan has just emptied. 'You needed a flesh mechanic. I couldn't help you alone. Trading drugs for water wasn't enough, I needed someone to come with me. I went to Gas Town, got Dead End to come treat you. And I promised him the Green Place in exchange for it and for not selling me out. Once he had been there, it was no longer safe for us to stay anyway.'

Duncan stared at him, completely dumbfounded. 'Why would you _do_ that?'

'Because you would have died if I hadn't?' Rhys winced at the anger and dismay in Duncan's voice, toneless whisper that is was.

'Why didn't you kill Dead End? What, did you think someone would miss that worthless freak?' Duncan struggled to stand up but fell back, out of breath.

Rhys held Duncan's gaze, unflinching. 'You know I don't murder people. We've been over this. Not even for the Green Place. You're alive. That's all that is important to me and I would do it again to save you.' 

'But what about you?' Duncan leaned against the wall, shuddering with exhaustion, a blanket pulled around himself.

'What about me?' Rhys shrugged. 'I'm fine. Nothing happened, no-one knows where we are and if we avoid the big settlements for a while, we should be okay.'

'That's not what I meant and you know it. Without our Green Place, are you going to start fading away again? Have you forgotten how it was before we found it? Because I haven't and I don't want to see you like that again.' It dawned on Rhys that Duncan was scared and that was what made him angry. Duncan dealt with fear through aggression.

'That won't happen. Things are different now. I have you. And we will find a Green Place again. I took seeds with me, some plants. We'll be okay again.' Rhys was trying to convince himself as much as Duncan. It almost worked.

Rhys caught Duncan as he sagged and slid down the wall, helped him lie down again. 'We will talk more later. You still need more rest. Let me take care of you.'

Duncan rolled over and turned his back on Rhys. 'Leave me alone for a bit. I need to think.'

'Sure.' Rhys hesitated, trying to find the words that would make it all better. But there were none and Duncan's silence filled the room, made it hard to breathe. Rhys fled to the surface.  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
As soon as he had been able to stand and walk a few paces, Duncan had insisted they move. He didn't feel safe so close to Gas Town. Going closer to the Citadel was out of the question for the same reason. They had loaded up the truck Rhys had been forced to barter for their bikes from Dead End and had picked their way between the territories of the major settlements out into the Wasteland. They had survived there before, they could do it again.

They didn't talk about their Green Place. It was on both their minds but it only bore them fruits of sorrow and anger now. Best to leave it alone. Duncan didn't comment on the fact that Rhys had brought plants and sacrificed water to keep them alive.

After years with a place to call home, they were drifting. All of Duncan's efforts to create a new normality for them, some sort of routine to root them down, seemed hollow. They only emphasised what they had lost.

Duncan refused to let Rhys set foot in any of the smaller settlements. Rhys didn't argue. When Duncan went to trade, he left Rhys in hiding places and tried not to think about coming back to find him gone. 

He returned from such a trip to find Rhys curled up in what little shade the rocky outcrop they camped under offered. The plants in their cans and crates took up most of the space, wilting in the merciless heat of midday. Rhys lay in front of them, his back to the world. He didn't stir when Duncan got out of the truck, only turned over when Duncan touched his shoulder.

'I brought you something.' He handed Rhys a small tightly wrapped package. 'Someone had dates to trade. I think most still have the pit in them, too.'

Rhys carefully unwrapped the package and broke open one of the dates. There was a stone inside, undamaged. 'Thank you-' Before he could say more, his voice broke and he turned away from Duncan, the package clutched in his hands.

_Oh no._ Duncan scooted over until he was sitting in front of Rhys again and pressed his forehead to Rhys', one hand on his neck. He didn't try to make Rhys look up, he could barely handle _hearing_ him cry. As much as he hated it, he knew it was better than the silent grief that had been eating Rhys alive since they left the Green Place behind.

'If I could bring it back, I would. I thought about going back and killing Dead End. But I knew it would sour the place for you.' Truth be told, the years with Rhys had made Duncan less of a killer or at least less of an unprovoked killer. But if he had thought it would have made Rhys happy again, Duncan would have murdered Dead End as soon as he could walk again.

'It would.' Rhys held Duncan's free hand, thumb running over the palm over and over again. 'I need to forget about it. We're not getting it back. But I can't. I dream about it. I see it when I close my eyes. It's in my heart.' He let go to wipe away his tears. 'I'm sorry. I'll try harder. It was my decision and I would do it again because losing you would be much worse.'

He half-turned to look out over the plains, the dark hazy plume over Gas Town just visible on the horizon. 'I hate being out here so much. I hate this fucking desert and I hate having to hide. I hate being different. This is all because of me, because people take one look at me and see a freak, but a valuable one. I just want to be left alone. For _us_ to be left alone. Is that so much to ask in this fucking shithole of a world?' The echo of his voice rang in Duncan's ears even after Rhys had fallen silent. It was rare for Rhys to raise his voice and now he had screamed out his rage and pain.

Duncan didn't know what to say. He had no words to make it better. He had always been better at coping with the Wasteland than Rhys but he had thought that Rhys had adapted. 'I'll protect you, you know that. I won't let anyone harm you.'

'But I don't _want_ that! I can protect myself, better than you or anyone can. But if I do it, if I use my magic, everyone will come after me. They'll hound me and capture me and lock me away to be used as a weapon.' Rhys had jumped up and rounded on Duncan, stood over him with his fists clenched. For a second, the air between them crackled, the smell of a storm in Duncan's nose, getting stronger with every loud breath Rhys took.

Then Rhys slumped and nothing but the hot, dusty smell of the desert was left. 'I'm sorry. It's not your fault. We'll figure something out.' 

He stooped to pick up the package and the date that had fallen from his lap, brushed the sand off of them. Sitting down again with a sigh, he broke open another one of the dates, picked the stone out and offered the fruit to Duncan. 

The date melted in Duncan's mouth, soft and warm, almost too sweet to bear. He closed his eyes, savouring it. Rhys leaned into him and Duncan hugged him tight.  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
A few days later, Duncan woke to see Rhys kneeling in the sand a couple of paces away, his back to Duncan. The glint of a knife brought Duncan to his feet in a heartbeat. He tackled Rhys to the ground, wrestling the knife from him. 'What are you _doing_?'

When he roughly pulled Rhys up into a sitting position, both his wrists held in one hand, Rhys' braid slid to the ground, cut through at the nape of his neck.

'-why?' Duncan let go of Rhys, staring at him.

'Why not. Am I not allowed to decide what happens to me?' Rhys looked up at him, face hard and expressionless.

It made Duncan flounder. 'Yes, of course- But- It's just that I liked it.' 

'I know. A lot of other people liked it, too. But I don't care.' Rhys held out his hand. 'Give me back the knife.'

'Let me do it.' It scared Duncan how cold Rhys acted. He wanted to do something for him, even this, to connect to him again.

'No.' Rhys waited, unmoving, until Duncan handed him the knife. 

Beaten, Duncan retreated to their bedrolls and watched Rhys cut and then shave the rest of his hair. He was nauseous. Rhys never was like this. Duncan wanted to make it right somehow, but he didn't know what to do.

When he was done, Rhys dropped the cut braid next to Duncan. 'You can barter it. I'm sure it will fetch a good price.' He turned to walk away and stopped when Duncan grabbed his hand.

'Rhys- wait, please.' Duncan let go of him immediately. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like you had to do things just to please me. I know I used to, but I thought-'

'I know.' Rhys softened a bit. 'You didn't and it's not about you. I'm trying to find a way to deal with all of this. To survive. And I can't do that the way I was.' He touched Duncan's face, a quick brush with his fingers against Duncan's cheek and ear. 'I'm going to hunt for lizards. Walk a bit, clear my head.'

Duncan was left running the braid through his hands, shaking slightly from adrenaline. He knew that the best thing he could do right now was give Rhys space. But knowing that didn't make doing it any easier.  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
The plants were dying. It was just too hot, too dry. Rhys had started to sneak some of his own water to them and Duncan hadn't had the heart to say something. And even if he had, Rhys would have listened, nodded and then continued to do it.

Rhys had almost stopped talking to Duncan. He had wrapped himself in a silence so loud Duncan couldn't make himself heard. He only ate when Duncan reminded him to, barely drank enough. He was wasting away just like his plants.

And Duncan could do nothing about any of these things. 

He could do nothing as the plants shriveled and died, one by one. Rhys kept them, kept watering the dry stumps and stalks. Duncan watched him and wanted to turn back and kill everyone who wanted to get their hands on Rhys.

In the end, all plants were dead. The saltbush had held out the longest but one day even it had dropped its last green leaf and has started to crumble. The stalks of the bush tomato had turned to dust already. The sweet potato had not produced any shoots again.

Rhys knelt in front of the saltbush, grinding some of the yellow leaves to powder between his fingers. He reached blindly for Duncan who stood next to him. When Duncan hugged him, Rhys didn't push him away but didn't lean into the embrace either. He did ask Duncan for help.

'With what?' Duncan petted Rhys' neck, ran his fingers over the soft stubble of hair on his head. He would have done anything if it meant not having to see Rhys like this.

'Help me carry them. I can't bury them here.' Rhys pulled out of Duncan's embrace, got to his feet.

_Bury them?_ Duncan wondered if Rhys had lost his mind. Nonetheless, he picked up a couple of pots and walked after Rhys, further between the rock fins they had picked as a campsite. The pots were light to carry, no moisture left in any of them. The smell of dry soil and dead leaves came to Duncan with every breath.

Rhys stopped after a while in a spot where a few boulders had fallen in a jumble together, creating sheltered places between them. 'Here.'

With Duncan handing him each plant, Rhys set to bury them. He gently fitted each into its own nook between the boulders and the gravel, covering them with sand. If it ever rained here, Duncan realised, the rain would be caught in those nooks. This was a burial with a hope to resurrection.

He took heart from that as he walked back to the camp with Rhys. And he clung to it as Rhys descended further into his Silence. He had thanked Duncan for his help with the burial and that was the last thing he had said for days. When he spoke, it was only the most necessary words. Duncan still talked to him, or rather at him. Rhys listened, most of the time, but he didn't react much beyond nods, single words and the very occasional touch. Not even when Duncan lost patience one night, yelled at him to say something, anything! 

'Stop punishing me! I don't know what to do!' He grabbed Rhys, forced him to his feet and shook him. 'Please-' Scared by his own violent outburst and by Rhys' blank stare, Duncan stopped, gulping down air. His fingers were digging hard into Rhys' arms and he let go slowly. When Rhys didn't move away, Duncan hugged him, pulled him close in a desperate embrace. ''I'm sorry. I'm sorry-'

Rhys answered the hug, squeezed Duncan tight. He still didn't break the Silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT NOTES: depression
> 
> Beta read by [Tyellas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas) \- go and read her [Rictus Erectus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709743/chapters/49410386) story about what might have been because it's awesome and heartbreaking.
> 
> Title from Skyclad's [Karmageddon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m13ifyTM7m8)


	4. Worn Out Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Rhys hadn't spoken for months, withdrawing into his Silence after they had buried the plants. He reacted less and less to what Duncan said to him, stopped paying attention to the world around him. Duncan had to almost force him to eat and drink. He didn't do it on his own any longer, only when Duncan made him._  
The Wasteland is doing its best to kill Rhys, but will he let it?
> 
> Content info in the end notes

Duncan had stopped leaving Rhys behind when he went to trade because he was too afraid that Rhys would just wander into the desert while he was away. By now, he was scared Rhys would do it during the night. They still slept nestled into one another, the only comfort Rhys allowed Duncan to give and take. But Duncan feared waking up alone one morning.

Rhys hadn't spoken for months, withdrawing into his Silence after they had buried the plants. He reacted less and less to what Duncan said to him, stopped paying attention to the world around him. Duncan had to almost force him to eat and drink. He didn't do it on his own any longer, only when Duncan made him.

They kept moving, never staying in one place too long. Duncan didn't know if they were being actively hunted but the rumours were still there. He heard them every time they went to trade. No-one gave them any trouble, but who knew who people talked to afterwards. Best not to linger anywhere and allow hunters to catch up.

The tiny settlement they had come to for trading was barely more than the corpse of a crashed plane, turned into a home for a handful of people. They regarded Duncan and Rhys with suspicion, but were willing to barter a few things. Duncan sorted through the meagre offerings spread on a blanket on top of a crate while the young woman opposite him did the same for what he could spare. He set aside a bar of soap, impossibly pink inside its torn package. Despite the horrible smell, Rhys would appreciate it for shaving his head.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhys stand with someone all wrapped in layer upon layer of light cloth, bags, tins and trinkets dangling from crossed bandoliers across their chest. Under the wrapped headcloth, tattoos were covering every inch of visible skin. Brain Picker, another History Man. Duncan had seen him before - he made a circuit of the settlements, gathering up rumours, lies and facts alike. He listened a lot more than he talked but he was talking now and so was Rhys.

It took Duncan a minute, his brain still busy with calculating if they could afford to give up the amount of water the woman asked for some lizard jerky. But then he turned and _stared_, straining to catch the sound of Rhys' voice if not the words, carried away by the constant wind.

He was still staring when Rhys nodded, squeezed Brain Picker's hand and ran over to Duncan. Rhys pulled Duncan to his feet and dragged him a few steps away from the market crate. There was a sparkle of excitement in his eyes that Duncan hadn't seen for a long time. And he almost missed what Rhys was actually saying over the joy of seeing it and hearing his voice again.

'We're going to the Citadel!' Rhys was full of energy suddenly, smiling hugely.

'We are _not_ going to the Citadel. What the fuck are you talking about?' Duncan didn't bother to keep his voice down either. Rhys statement had taken him by complete surprise. The woman he had been trading with while Rhys talked to the History Man stared at them with guarded curiosity.

'No, listen-' Rhys had grabbed both Duncan's arms, leaned close. 'Brain Picker told me: Immortan Joe is dead. So is the People Eater and the Bullet Farmer. But people are building something new at the Citadel. A place where people work together. . We could _do_ something there!'

'Brain Picker told you that? What, just like that you're suddenly talking to me again? And you expect me to just to pack our stuff and drive right up to their doorstep? ' Duncan was not convinced. Brain Picker was usually reliable. Reliable for a mad person wandering the desert and listening to every story told to them, that was. But this was ridiculous.

'Even with all of the warlords dead, do you think that the war boys and the rest of those fuckers suddenly are nice to each other? The Citadel is full of war-crazy killers and _they_ are not dead! Immortan Joe just was the worst of them! We can't go there! What if it's not even true?'

'What if it _is_ true? Do you really want to pass up a chance like that? We're all just picking the bones of the old world here, but they are creating something. I want to be a part of that.' Rhys quieted down, let go of Duncan's arms. 'I need to be a part of that.'

The wind tore at their clothes and made small sand devils dance around them. Duncan thought it over. There was no way he could say no to this. Saying no would mean more Silence. It would mean seeing Rhys wither away and die just like his plants. See him turn to dust, to haunt Duncan in the desert.

'Fuck it. Fine, we'll go. I guess we'll find out soon enough whether its true. Just don't get your hopes up too much. Even if it's true, it might not be what you want it to be.' He reached for Rhys hand, gave it a squeeze. It frightened him how excited Rhys was for this. After living through months of the Silence, it was jarring to see him so manic. 

It hurt Duncan that this vague piece of news could do for Rhys what all his own efforts hadn't been able to. He had never been able to offer real hope, only promises both he and Rhys knew were more fuelled by wishing than knowing. This had real substance or at least Rhys clearly believed it had. Duncan hoped just as fervently that it was true. If it wasn't, Rhys would die from it.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


Rhys tried hard not to be impatient as they found their way towards the Citadel. But he kept pushing for them to go faster, to drive in shifts, to take short cuts, to take risks to get there sooner. It was how they ended up inching their way forward in a sand storm, barely able to see further than the hood of the truck.

Finally, Duncan had enough. He drove the truck off their route and into the vaguely seen cover of a half-buried metal tank, torn open by an explosion long ago. After he turned the car off, the howling of the wind in the sudden silence was very loud. It was punctuated by the ticking of the engine and the rustle of sand being blown against the walls around them. Rhys had gone quiet, too, looking at Duncan with a sudden expression of fear.

'Stop.' Duncan turned to him, put a hand on Rhys' arm. 'We'll get there. Stop being so ...obsessive over it. You're-', _you're scaring me_ but he didn't want to say it. 

'You didn't say a word to me since we buried the plants and barely anything before that. You refused to tell me what was going on and I had to fight you to keep you alive! It felt like you had given away your life to save mine. To tell you the truth, I'd rather have died at our Green Place than being forced to see you die bit by bit. You pushed me away at every turn and I don't know _why_!' Duncan realised he was yelling but he couldn't have cared less.

'Do you want to punish me for being the reason we lost our Green Place because it fucking felt like you were.' He hadn't meant to say all of this either but once he had started talking, everything he had wanted to scream at Rhys during the Silence had been jostling for a way out of him. Breathing hard, he sat waiting for an answer, cold fear freezing his blood.

Rhys stared at Duncan for a second before throwing his hand off of him and jumping out of the truck, slamming the door shut. 

'Fuck!' Duncan scrambled after him and found him sitting outside, leaned against the truck. Rhys had pulled his knees up, hugging them, and was gulping down air in big gasps. He flinched when Duncan touched him and shrank away from him, but didn't resist when Duncan pulled him back into the cabin. The storm had swallowed the sun and Duncan fumbled for a crank lantern in the growing darkness. Rhys looked very pale in its unsteady light, his back pressed against the door, watching Duncan's every move.

'Please, talk to me. I'm sorry for yelling at you.' Duncan stretched out his hand slowly. 

After a few seconds, Rhys took it. 'I got scared. I didn't think, I only knew I had to get away. I'm sorry.' He moved to lean against Duncan.

'That hasn't happened for a while.' Duncan gave him a squeeze. 'Don't worry about it. But please tell me why you couldn't talk to me all that time.'

'I wanted to. But it was all so much. Just getting up every morning, eating, scavenging, looking for shelter. Just --staying alive. It used up all my energy. And every time I tried to talk to you, I choked on my words. Talking to you meant thinking about the situation we were in. Lost, drifting. In this fucking meat grinder of a world that chews you up and spits you out no matter how hard you try.' Rhys sat up straight so he could look at Duncan.

'I had gotten used to it, because of you. And then we found our Green Place. For the first time I can remember, I was looking forward to the rest of my life. Losing it was losing that hope.' He raised a hand to Duncan's face, cupped his jaw with his palm and ran his thumb over Duncan's lips. 'I wanted to talk to you, help you. But I was trapped in my head. I didn't have the strength to get out. I was --dormant. Waiting for rain.' He let his hand drop into his lap. 'I'm sorry.'

Duncan suddenly knew exactly how Rhys had felt this whole time. He would have liked nothing better than staying silent and waiting for it all to go away. 'I really wanted to be enough for you. It hurts to find out I'm not. I guess I did know, but with our Green Place, I could fool myself.' He swallowed. 'If the Citadel works out for you, will you let me stay? You wouldn't need me there.' Before Rhys could answer, Duncan quickly touched his arm: 'I will take you there whatever you say.'

Rhys took his hand before he could pull away. 'I'll stay with you. What makes you think I wouldn't need you any more? You can't give me _everything_ I need but without you, I would have died. I would have given up. You're the reason why I'm still alive. I don't blame you and I didn't mean to punish you. If I had to, I would make the same decision again, giving up our Green Place for you. I can't lose you. And I want us to stay together, no matter where we go.'

With a gentle tug on Duncan's hand, Rhys got him to scoot across the seat bench, turned sideways so he could hug him. Duncan leaned into Rhys, his back against Rhys' chest, wrapping himself in the embrace. 

The silence between them stretched while they listened to the storm, the truck rocking on its suspension when gusts of wind found a way inside the tank. The lantern flickered and went out.

'I really fucking hope the Citadel is what Brain Picker promised, for both of us. I can't imagine being without you.' Duncan nestled closer into Rhys in the dark, all tension leaving his body. Rhys was talking to him again and that was all Duncan needed for now. Despite the uncertainty, he was happy in this moment.

  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  


'Do you have a plan how we get in? I really doubt they let just everyone up who asks.' The Citadel was towering on the horizon, they'd get there the next day. Duncan was starting to get nervous.

Rhys shrugged. 'I think they'll want to let someone up who can do magic.' 

Duncan slammed the brakes and brought them to a standstill, the view obscured by the dust cloud that had been following them and now engulfed the car. 'You cannot be serious. You _can't_ show them! Not right away, maybe never!'

'If it gets us in, I will.' Rhys put a hand on Duncan's leg. 'I thought about this for a long time and it's worth it.'

With a sigh, Duncan gave Rhys' hand a squeeze. 'Okay. I trust you. Maybe it really is time to stop hiding and running from this. I'm just so used to never letting anyone see.' He gave Rhys a sidelong glance. 'It's weird, having you call the shots. Might need a bit to wrap my head around that.'

Rhys didn't take away his hand when Duncan started driving again. 'I hope that at the Citadel, we can decide together. Neither of us responsible for the other.'

It was a new thought to Duncan and not a comfortable one. He had been Rhys' protector for so long that he didn't know what he was if Rhys didn't need his protection any more. But he did know that he couldn't hold on to Rhys against his will. If it turned out that there was no place at the Citadel for Duncan, only for Rhys, he would gladly leave him there. Better to roam the Wasteland alone, knowing Rhys was safe, than to take him and see him die.

When they made camp for the night, Rhys sat for hours, staring at the lights of the Citadel in the darkness. Duncan watched him in turn, wondering if this was the last night they would spend together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Tyellas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas)
> 
> Title inspired by Skyclad's [Worn Out Sole](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iU5TCoVT-ik)
> 
> CONTENT INTO: suicidal ideation, depression, mentions of past abuse


	5. Hollow Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'We want to be let up to the Citadel.' Rhys stood with his head held high, speaking like there was no question that they would be. The Wretched stared to murmur, there was some laughter and people shushing each other. _  
Will the Citadel bring what the orks hope for?

With a crowd trailing after them, Duncan and Rhys walked up to the winchmen. They had been allowed to drive almost right up to the Citadel. The huge tower of rock looked impossibly huge, loomed over them. Duncan felt small and jumpy, one hand on his knife at all times. 

The settlement around the base of the Citadel was new. The Wretched used to live in holes, fighting each other for the scraps and occasional splashes of Aqua Cola thrown to them by Immortan Joe. Now, there were actual buildings and it was obvious that someone was giving them water and food on a regular basis. It was still a hard life but seeing this gave Duncan a little hope that the rumours about the Citadel might be true. Taking over from Immortan Joe and just continuing like he had done would have been the _easy_ way. This was the hard way but it showed -compassion. Not a word the Wasteland had much use for and Duncan had to think for a while to remember it.

Rhys had for once taken off his robe and showed off the tattoos on his arms and neck for everyone to see. Duncan had to hurry not to lose Rhys in the crowd. The Wretched had crowded around them. They kept their distance, from Duncan in particular, but with everyone shoving to get a good look that distance got smaller and smaller. Their sheer number made him uncomfortable. 

For now, the only thing driving the Wretched was curiosity. Some of the braver ones where trying to barter with Duncan. Others were talking among themselves, pointing out Rhys' tattoos to each other and commenting on Duncan's size and on the tusks and ears. 

Rhys was talking to one of them, a man with his arm in a ragged sling, clearly broken. The naked distrust of the Wretched melted in the face of Rhys’ gentleness. It only took the short walk to the lift platform for them to smile at each other before Rhys turned to the nearest winchman.

The burly man displayed an aggression that Duncan was much more comfortable with, he could handle aggression. 'What do you want?'

'We want to be let up to the Citadel.' Rhys stood with his head held high, speaking like there was no question that they would be. The Wretched stared to murmur, there was some laughter and people shushing each other. 

'And why would we do that?' The guard crossed his arms and tried to stare Rhys down. Meanwhile, the Wretched has opinions on their own: 

'They're healthy, good breeders!' 'Check whether the ears are the only pointy thing there!' 'Yeah, we wanna see!'  
'Let the History Man up! We can eat the other one! Enough meat for us all on him!'

Duncan had no idea if they were serious and clutched his knife tighter.

'Watch.' Rhys turned to the Wretched with the broken arm he had talked to before. ‘Can you show me your arm, please?’ His voice carried and the crowd fell silent. No one wanted to miss the show. The injured Wretched suddenly found himself the middle of attention, with people pushing him forward until he stood in front of Rhys. He gestured to his arm and let Rhys unwrap the sling. The arm was badly broken, the bone pushing the skin outward. An injury like that meant losing the use of the arm at best.

‘This is going to feel strange.’ Rhys put his hand on the arm, above the broken part. For a moment nothing happened, then the bone started to move, shifting under the skin. The man gave a yelp and pulled his arm away, staring at it. 

‘Try to move it, please?’ Rhys had taken a step back. Everyone close enough to have seen pushed in and surrounded the man who at first gingerly moved his arm and then waved it, let people touch it.

Rhys turned to the guard. ‘This is why you want to let me up. I can heal people.’

Duncan moved closer to him, eyeing the crowd. Word was spreading. The murmur got louder:

‘He did magic!’  
‘Fuck off he didn’t!’  
‘Let us see! We want to see! Do it again!’  
'Pick me next!' 'No, fix me, I've got it worse!'

The tone was more curious than hostile but people started to shove and press closer, wanting to be part of what was happening. They would get mobbed in a minute.

Rhys ignored everything, his attention focused on the guard who was getting just as nervous as Duncan. Clearly deciding this was above his pay grade, he pointed at Duncan. ‘Get the car, you’re taking it up. Weapons stay with us.’

Duncan didn't like handing over his weapons, but they had come too far to baulk at this now. He had to shove his way to the car and nudge people with it while driving it to the lift. But there still was enough fear and respect left that people made way and didn’t step on the platform. They were calling to Rhys, holding up sick children, showing injuries. The man with the broken arm had been swallowed by the crowd. 

Doing what Duncan had feared he would do, Rhys stepped into the crowd and picked up one of the children offered to him. A toddler with burns all over her body, severe enough that Duncan could see them at a distance. The child was too far gone to even cry or move much. Rhys hugged her gently to himself before holding her out to her father again, skin regrowing over the burns. Blood had started to seep out of Rhys’ nose and he staggered.

With a silent curse, Duncan got out of the car, shouldered his way through the crowd and roughly dragged Rhys away. He pushed hard at one woman who tried to hold on to Rhys, begging him to come heal her mother, dying of night fevers. The winchmen did their best to hold people back so _they_ wouldn’t get overrun too. When the lift started to rise, the crowd hung back, hungry faces turned upwards. 

Duncan gave Rhys a squeeze, but didn’t say anything. This was only the beginning and he couldn’t help Rhys here. It was Rhys’ magic and he had to find a way to deal with this himself. Duncan could only stop him from exhausting himself. 

If the Citadel folk didn’t accept them, the Wretched would, but Duncan wasn’t sure if that wouldn’t kill Rhys just as quickly as going back into the desert. He’d run himself ragged trying to help people and they would never stop asking. Or someone who didn’t want to understand the limits of Rhys’ magic might get angry enough to kill him. At least up at the Citadel, it would be possible to have some distance.

The jolt and metallic boom of the lift coming to a stop tore Duncan out of his thoughts. There was a crowd up here, too. Warboys, a gaggle of kids, a _lot_ of women of all ages, some of them almost incredibly healthy and with an air of authority that made Duncan bristle.

Two of them stepped in front of the crowd, a waifish blonde and a tiny dark haired woman. Duncan could have thrown her across the room without even trying but from the way she held herself, he was sure she would just get up and then do her best to tear out his throat. She stared at him while the blonde came up to Rhys and without any hesitation, ran her hands across his arms, tracing the tattoos. 

‘Illustrated Man. Heard you were coming. Is it true you have magic?’ She looked at Rhys, eyes unfocused.

‘Yes.’ Rhys dropped his voice so only Duncan and the woman heard him. ‘You know it is. I can see yours.’ He let his voice carry again. ‘I have. I can heal people. And I know about plants. I have seeds. I’m willing to share all of it for a place here for us.’

‘And you? You're big. That's not enough here. What can you do?’ That was the tiny woman. She had strutted right up to Duncan, still staring at him. He had to force himself not to take a step backwards. His usual reaction here would have been violence but that was out of the question. He didn’t know what he was left with and he very much didn’t know what he had to offer.

‘I can fight. You still need that, don’t tell me you don’t.’ He held her gaze without blinking. 

Rhys and the blonde sharing a quiet laugh make them both look over at the same time, with the same irritated expression. 

‘Where I go, he goes.’ Reaching for Duncan’s hand, Rhys stood by his side. They waited while the women talked among themselves. Some of the children came forward, openly staring at both of them. One of them reached up and touched a flower on Rhys’ arm before fleeing back into the crowd, scattering the rest of the group.

‘Right. You can stay, both of you. The car belongs to the Citadel now. If you decide you don’t like it here, you’re free to leave. If _we_ decide you need to leave, you do it, one way or the other. Car’s ours, no matter what. You can live with that?’ The dark-haired woman was mostly staring at Duncan again, clearly thinking that any trouble would come from him.

Rhys looked at him and Duncan shrugged. He didn’t feel he had much choice here but he was relieved that they had been accepted for now. Part of him was still waiting for the war boys to grab them both, throw him off the tower and just keep Rhys.

‘We can live with that.’ Having Rhys speak for him, even with something they had agreed on, brought home to Duncan how much he was here as an extension of Rhys. And he wondered if Rhys had been feeling like that in all their time together. 

There was no time to dwell on it. They got swept up in the crowd, everyone eager and curious to take a look at the newcomers. Duncan trailed after Rhys who talked to the blonde. The Dag - he had already learned her name and even her friend had introduced herself to him, although Toast still didn't hide her disapproval of Duncan. Rhys seemed completely at ease, more excited and animated than Duncan had seen him since they found their own green place.

Duncan was lost. He didn't know what to do, how to behave and Rhys didn't pay any attention to him. The tunnel leading deeper into the Citadel opened up before him and Duncan let himself be swallowed.  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
Time had passed in a blur. Finding his own place at the Citadel had been easier than Duncan thought. It still needed to be defended and now that War Boys were no longer cannon fodder, Duncan's actual combat skills were of value. He taught the War Boys to fight, not to rely on sacrificing themselves but to keep themselves alive. He liked doing it. He liked the War Boys, eager to learn. And he liked Toast who had enlisted him for this project. So he had found a purpose. That had helped. 

Rhys was always busy. Duncan barley saw him, morning and nights. Between taking up the part-time role of a flesh mechanic, exploring and working at the gardens of the Citadel and spending time with The Dag while doing that, Rhys seemed always preoccupied with his next project.

Duncan was jealous.

He didn't want to admit it, but he was. It stabbed his heart every time to see Rhys talking with The Dag, with one of the Wretched or the Mothers, moving easily and freely without any need for Duncan to protect him. 

Of course that was what they both wanted. It was what Rhys had wanted. Duncan wanted to see him happy. He told himself that.  
It didn't help at all. 

Duncan didn't like the realisation that he was so possessive of Rhys. Still saw him as something to be owned. He had thought better of himself. Finding out that he had been wrong disgusted him. He had promised himself and Rhys to be better a long time ago and he _had_ been, but not nearly as much as he had thought.

One day, Duncan had climbed up to the gardens, wanting to maybe spend a little time with Rhys. A couple of Green Thumbs had stopped him, clearly nervous but also firm in their insistence that only people with permission were allowed in the gardens and Duncan didn't have that. He probably could have convinced one of them to go find Rhys and Rhys _probably_ would have given Duncan permission. But he didn't feel like trying and slunk back down into the Citadel.

Toast had found him sitting alone in a tunnel, under his very own cloud of gloom. She leaned against the wall next to him, arms crossed. 'Not like you imagined things to be? Want to run?' 

_Want me to leave?_ He almost said it and realised he was terrified the answer would be yes. He wanted to stay here. But as things were now, he couldn't. He needed some time away from Rhys. Far away so he wouldn't cave and come crawling back right away. Or maybe Rhys needed some time away from him. They could talk once Duncan was back. See if Rhys still wanted him then or if he had found out he was better off without Duncan. 

'Run? No. Think I can come back when I leave for a while?' Duncan held his breath. Toast didn't fuck around and he appreciated it. Better get it over with quickly.

Toast stared at him, eyes narrowed. 'Are you sure you should be asking _me_ that? And not your man? Is he still your man?'

Duncan shrugged, his shoulders slumping back down immediately. 

'Right.' Toast didn't hesitate for one second. 'I expect you back because we're finally getting somewhere with the War Boys. But you're no use like this, so go. Get it out of your system and come back. We've got some things we need that you can try and get on the way.' She didn't waste energy on pity or on advice Duncan didn't want anyway. 

And just like that, it was decided. Duncan would leave, for a while. 

The next morning, he stood in the room he shared with Rhys and took a last look around. He hadn't slept at all last night. Instead, he had watched Rhys sleep next to him, trying to commit every detail to memory, and had again wondered if this would be their last night together.

Rhys had noticed how tired Duncan looked and had commented on it. But he hadn't worried too much or looked too closely, not with other people already waiting for him. He had left with a kiss and the promise to talk to Duncan later, to bring a treat for dinner from the gardens.

It had almost been enough to make Duncan stay. But if he didn't leave now, he never would. Strapping his knife to his leg, Duncan took a deep breath. He left a message on the bed, a piece of cloth with carefully printed letters. It had taken him hours to find the right words. At least he hoped they were the right words. Nothing he could do now if they weren't. 

He turned and started the walk towards the lift. The Citadel was huge. By the time Rhys figured out he wasn't coming back for a while, he'd be long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by [Tyellas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas)


	6. This Crooked Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Following Duncan's wishes, Rhys had not gone looking for him and had not sent a spirit either. The first few days he had put a little Watcher spirit on top of the Citadel but it had only produced false alarms: other bikes, sand devils, once even a cloud that looked vaguely like a bike. He had given up on it after that and had just waited. _  
Will the orks still have a place in each others' lives?

_Rhys, we need some time away from each other. Figure out if you really need me now or if it's just habit that you want me around for. I've got nothing to offer you and I don't want to be a habit. _  
_Don't look for me. I'm coming back and you can decide then._  
_Duncan_

'That fucking idiot.' Rhys threw the letter in Duncan's careful round handwriting back on the shelf. He had read it so many times that he wasn't even angry any more but he couldn't keep from looking at it every day, willing Duncan to come back.

He had had a screaming fight with Toast on the day he had found it and the whole Citadel knew what was going on. At least no one was trying to comfort him.

Following Duncan's wishes, Rhys had not gone looking for him and had not sent a spirit either. The first few days he had put a little Watcher spirit on top of the Citadel but it had only produced false alarms: other bikes, sand devils, once even a cloud that looked vaguely like a bike. He had given up on it after that and had just waited. 

Without Duncan, Rhys felt alone. Vulnerable. There was no need to be afraid here. He knew that but after such a long time, knowing and believing were two very different things. Over the next months, he slowly got used to it, to not having Duncan to fall back on if there was trouble or a hard decision to be made. But he still missed him.  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
Duncan and the stranger ran into each other scavenging at the site of what probably had been a fight between other scavvies. It had ended in everyone dying, leaving their vehicles to be picked clean. A skeletal driver grinned through the ruin of his windshield, a single hand clutching the steering wheel, arm long gone.

The vehicles were still prime bait. Prime enough to draw another living, wary scavenger. 

By the time Duncan noticed he was not alone, when he saw the black car that was obviously not part of the wreck, it was too late. The stranger had him at gunpoint, appearing so sudden as if he had grown out of the sand. Behind the barrel of a shotgun, the unwavering focus of the man's eyes was even more worrying. 

His whole posture, tense and coiled like a spring, told Duncan that this was silent panic, not aggression. Aggression he knew how to handle. Panic was a lot more volatile and unpredictable.

Duncan had no wish to repeat the mistakes of the dead. 

He tried talking the stranger into lowering his shotgun. Keeping his voice low and as calm as he could, he negotiated. 'I don't want trouble. If you want me to, I'll leave. Or you can have first pick and I wait where you can see me. This is not worth fighting over. You decide.' He did not raise his hands, he wasn't suicidal, but he did show that they were empty. 

The man eyed Duncan's bike and for some reason that seemed to tip the scales in favour of peaceful coexistence. 'Stay.' 

For a minute, Duncan wasn't sure whether that was an invitation or an order, but since the shotgun was no longer aimed at him, he took it as permission to stick around.

Not that the stranger was in any way _relaxed_ \- every sudden noise made him jump, hand straying to his gun. He had the look of a seasoned road warrior, armed to the teeth and methodically going about his search while keeping an eye on Duncan. Close cropped hair, a black shawl like the ones Duncan had seen at the Citadel. A brace to one knee and movement that told Duncan this was an old injury. A leather jacket that was beat to shit and looked like it had been dragged behind a number of cars. Not unlike its owner. 

Duncan took care to move slowly around him, to let him know where he was at all times while they looked for usable parts and whatever else time and sand and other people had left them. He never got behind the stranger's back and the man did the same for him. 

They danced a slow ballet around the wrecks, taking what they found to their respective vehicles, parked at a safe distance from each other. Duncan spent a little time surreptitiously admiring the stranger's car. It looked like it had been through hell and back, but even just sitting there it gave the impression of barely controlled power, sleek and dusty black, the supercharger on its hood only the most obvious hint. Just like the stranger's silence rested on top of explosive violence, barely restrained.

Finally, when they hadn’t killed each other all morning, Duncan approached the man and spoke to him. And the stranger accepted Duncan's invitation to share water and a meal with a grunt. 

Sitting in the meagre shade of the biggest vehicle carefully not within reach of each other and finishing the last of the water and food they had each brought to this roadside picnic, Duncan fished in his jacket for a package. 

'Almost forgot I had this.' He kept a running commentary of whatever he did if it could be taken as a sign of aggression. Rhys had taught him that and Duncan treated the stranger not so differently from Rhys at his most frightened, with a liberal dose of paranoia. It seemed to be working.

Duncan placed the opened package between them so they each could reach it if they leaned over. The smell of the dried peaches was powerful in the still air of the midday desert, mouthwateringly sweet, a promise of the taste exploding on the tongue.

There was a surprised grunt from his right and the stranger leaned over to very carefully pick up one of the pieces. He held it up like he had never seen anything like it. Duncan for sure hadn't until Rhys had brought one of the fresh fruits down from the gardens. Biting into it had been a shock. Duncan hadn't knows there were fruits that juicy and sweet.

'Peaches,' Duncan explained. 'They grow them at the Citadel.'

The stranger had eaten the first piece and waited until Duncan had taken one before grabbing another. ''s good.' He chewed and swallowed before standing and picking up his bag. He nodded his thanks at Duncan.

'Here. Take them.' Wrapping the package, Duncan held it out to him. The stranger hesitated and stared at the package. Duncan cursed silently. He had acted on an instinct he didn't know he had. And it clearly looked like a _trap_, to both of them.

'Take them. I'm on my way back anyway.' It was the best explanation he could come up with. He kept still, hand with the package outstretched. 

After a pause of several breaths, the man made a step forward and very slowly took the package from Duncan's hand before backing away again. Another grunt, this one in a downright friendly tone. And a question, hesitant and the most words the stranger had spoken at any one time. 'Any news from there?' 

'Been a while since I left. They are making it work, Furiosa and the others. Got all the war boys that were left on their side and the Wretched and everyone. Hard to believe, I know. But I think the Citadel is a good place to be. Better than the rest of the Wastes for sure.' Duncan hoped it was still true and that he wouldn't find a burning ruin when he returned.

'Mhm.' The stranger took that in, stared off into the distance for a minute before he pulled himself together. 'Thanks.' He walked towards his car, with a nod in Duncan's direction.

Duncan stayed where he was, hands clearly visible, back against the vehicle, until the stranger had started his car and was moving off. The rumble of the engine was loud and deep. Duncan felt it in his bones. To his surprise, he got an answering wave to his own. The car accelerated and vanished over a rise, leaving only a settling dust cloud and ringing silence behind, the engine noise fading quickly.

Duncan stayed in the shade a while longer. He hadn't actually planned to go back to the Citadel. Not yet. Saying it just now had made it reality.

This whole encounter would not have happened the way it did if it hadn't been for the Citadel and Rhys, for what both had taught him. He had changed and he didn't want to lead the life of a scavenger roaming the Wasteland any more. Suddenly, he _missed_ the Citadel and Rhys with a sharp pain instead of the dull ache he had carried with him ever since he had left. 

The way he was sitting, he could look out over the plains in the direction of the Citadel. It wasn't visible, but he knew it was there and it pulled him toward itself like a magnet with the promise of a home.  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
Rhys was just smoothing down the soil around a seedling when two war pups came hurtling down the path amidst the plants.

'He's back! Your warrior is back!' They stood in front of Rhys, thrilled to be the first to deliver the news. 

Rhys smiled at them. 'Thank you. Let's go see him.' He wiped his hands on his robe and picked up Wheeze, the smaller one of the pups, to carry him. It forced him to walk slow and not run like he wanted to. 

There was a crowd. Everybody had some to see this, it seemed. Rhys wasn't supposed to know this, but there was a betting pool whether he would kiss Duncan, punch him, set him on fire, punch _and_ kiss him or just throw him off the Citadel. He had been tempted to place a bet himself because he sure didn't know what he was going to do.

People cleared a path for Rhys once he had put Wheeze down and started to elbow his way forward. 

'Don't throw him off, yeah?' A war boy tried some last minute encouragement and was quickly shushed by the others: 'Shut up, that's cheating!' 

Duncan stood in a rapidly widening circle, had just pushed the bike off the lift platform. Seeing him, Rhys' anger flared up again, hot and sharp. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 'I'm glad you're back. We need to talk.'

Holding his large backpack like a shield, Duncan looked like he'd rather just take the bike and leave again. 'I-- You're right.' He followed Rhys deeper into the Citadel, leaving the murmuring crowd behind.

'So. Do you still want to be with me?' In their room, Rhys leaned against the wall, arms crossed. It was the first thing he had said to Duncan after greeting him on the platform. His stare had pinned Duncan down in the middle of the room.

'Yes. I want to. But I'm not sure I should be? The whole time we were here, together, I wanted you for myself. I- I hated seeing you fitting in so easily. I was of no use to you. Not like I was. And what else can I be?' Duncan finally lowered his backpack.

Rhys barked a laugh. 'And because you don't want to decide over me any more, you decide _for_ me that I need time away from you?' He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. 'I won't deny that you were right. Some time apart has helped me see a couple of things, learn how to be on my own. When you were here, I treated you badly. I kept away from you because I was afraid that I would just push everything at you, like I used to. With you gone, I couldn't do that anymore and I learned how to cope with it. Make my own choices and stand up for them.' 

He held out his hand to Duncan, patted the floor next to himself. 'But I have missed you and I want you to stay. You're important to me. And here, we can truly decide over our life together.' He smiled. 'I want to tell you how my day was, hear your opinion and just talk about things with you. I want you to hold me while I sleep and wake up with you. I want to share this life with you.'

Duncan came to sit with him, at a loss for words. 'I-- I'd like that. And I'm sorry for leaving like that. I'll- come talk to you next time. When there's a problem.' For now, being back felt _right_ to Duncan. Everything else could wait. He pulled his backpack close and over to Rhys. 'I brought you something. Thought you'd want to have them.'

Rhys opened the backpack and found his plants, the ones he had buried in the desert. They were still shrivelled and dead, stalks crumbling and roots withered. But he thought they had a chance here at the Citadel. All they needed was some time and care.  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
'Rhys says you have to come down, right now!' The war pup was all but dancing around Duncan who had just sat down to eat. 'Now!' A tug on the sleeve underlined the urgency of the message.

Duncan sighed, looked at his bowl and decided that he could eat dried crickets just as well while walking. Even faster than sitting down, it turned out, because somehow a lot of them made their way into the war pup's stomach. In the short time since he had returned, he had accidentally adopted a gaggle of pups who followed him around until he found things for them to do. And like real pups, it was hard to ignore them while eating.

Stepping off the elevator, he saw Rhys cheerfully waving to a guy carrying two canisters of Aqua Cola in the direction of a beat up car stuffed to the roof with crates and cages. 'So, what's so important?' Duncan growled but didn't mean it.

Rhys nodded at the crate next to him, covered with his cloak. 'This.' 

Duncan gave a sigh. Rhys had developed a flair for the dramatic that Duncan enjoyed seeing aimed at other people but not always at himself. He pulled the coat aside and had time to see brown fur and a furiously wagging tail before a bundle of floof exploded out of the crate and danced around him. 

'I think he remembers you.' Rhys grinned at the dog, who was busy wrapping its leash around Duncan's legs in its enthusiasm. And Duncan remembered it. He hadn't forgotten the tiny puppy in its cage, even with everything that had happened in the meantime. It had grown up, fur long and soft and in dire need of a brush.

Duncan untangled himself from the leash and went down on one knee, buried his hands deep in the dog's fur, scritching its ears until it fell over. Rhys knelt on the other side and petted it. Their hands met and Duncan held tight for a second. 'Thank you.'

He wanted to say much more but didn't know how. But he did understand that the gift was another affirmation: Rhys wanted him around.

'What do you want to call him?' Rhys squeezed his hand.

'Fuzzball.' Duncan had decided long ago, right when he had first seen the puppy. It had grown up since then but it still fit. He ran a hand over its head. 'Hey, Fuzzball, want to come live with us?'

The dog did a little excited dance-and-yip, running to the end of its leash and back a few times before flopping down in Duncan's lap, showering him in sand and fur. Rhys laughed. 'I think that means yes.'  
  


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  
  
Duncan blinked in the sunlight. After the long walk up to the gardens through a maze of dark tunnels, he needed a moment to adjust. Rhys was quicker and tugged him along, holding on to his hand. 'Come, you need to see this!'

Finding their way through the plant beds and small trees growing on top of the Citadel, Duncan once again wondered at the chance that had brought them here. It was a strange place in the murderous Wasteland, one where compassion and humanity were not a flaw that got you killed. It wasn't perfect, but it was so much better than anything else.

It suited Rhys very well and to be honest, it suited Duncan better than he had ever thought possible. He liked not having to constantly watch his back, he liked having friends and he liked not drifting any more. But he liked having Rhys best of all. Not as a prisoner, not depended on him and with no alternative. Here, Rhys was with him because it was his _choice_.

'Look!' Rhys has stopped in a shaded corner of the gardens, away from the main paths. It was protected from the merciless sun by a few trees and nets that shaded the ground, sunlight only dappling it and not burning everything away. They had put the plants Rhys had taken from their Green Place here, the dead ones Duncan had brought back with him. Duncan had thought they would never grow again but Rhys had told him to wait and see. 

Silvery green leaves were unrolling out of tiny buds on the saltbush and the bush tomato already had a flower.

'It's been worth the wait, hasn't it?' Rhys stood looking down at the plants, one hand still firmly holding Duncan's. The smell of moist soil and growing plants was all around them, incredibly alive. Just like Rhys.

Duncan hugged him tight and kissed him, picked an acacia flower out of his hair. 'Yes. It has.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art by Nottwick](https://www.artstation.com/nottwick), thank you so much!
> 
> Betaread by [Tyellas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709743/chapters/28984599) \- thank you!
> 
> Title inspired by Dead Can Dance's [Anywhere Out Of This World](https://youtu.be/-iz0GgihIRM)
> 
> There is a prequel to this called [This Crooked Path](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21630796/chapters/51579271) \- you can read both stories on their own though and in whatever sequence you like. Right now, This Crooked Path is an ongoing multi-chapter fic.


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